


Feelings, Too

by bold_seer



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Domestic, M/M, POV Stephen Strange, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-06-29 00:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19819078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bold_seer/pseuds/bold_seer
Summary: The ring is pressing into his finger. He doesn’t know how to get it off.





	Feelings, Too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scioscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scioscribe/gifts).



> Prompt: people stuck in time loop get married (and then the time loop ends unexpectedly)

The ring is pressing into his finger. He doesn’t know how to get it off. Except by magic. It hurts.

Of all the stupid ideas that stuck, out of all the loops, this led to a strange morning after. Alanis Morissette meets Cher, he’d like to turn back time. “Think we can get a divorce in less than twenty-four hours? Better than Britney, in 2004.”

They resemble wedding rings, the circular oh-ohs. Two zeros: nothing, twice over. Restart the day, at 00:00. New day, new life.

“Annulment,” says Wong, not looking up. He sounds like he’s lost his way in Renaissance England. But Stephen wears a cloak on the regular - sentient, has feelings, too. Who is he to judge the fashion?

Dying was getting kind of old. Already did that a thousand times. He remembers Wong’s lifeless body, in the real world, the less loopy version. Too late to resuscitate, but he did it anyway. Waking up with a ring on one’s finger was preferable to not waking up at all.

Back to the immediate present, non-looping time. Wong seems unworried, unhurried, working through his stack of pancakes, drizzled in honey, without a care in the world. The rain taps against the windows. Stephen’s bones are aching. He longs for a hot shower. Needs a new mattress. Could be any day of the week. Any week, any month. Only, it isn’t.

Stephen bites into the buttered toast, which would’ve been nice twenty minutes ago. He puts the piece back on the plate, experimentally directing some heat towards it. His mind is distracted, hands stiff, the energy off. It chars into something inedible, or at least seriously unappetising. For all that he practiced against Dormammu, his everyday magic needs fine-tuning. Wong is kind enough not to comment. Stephen thinks of the Time Stone. The temptation to operate outside the box. Borrowing books under Wong’s nose. Trying his hands - or not - at something new. Risky and ridiculous ( _Let’s get married, Wong!_ ), ticking things off a universal bucket list. Frivolousness that could cause a cosmic collapse? 

With a sigh, Stephen pushes away his plate. He doesn’t need to eat, but he needs to solve the situation. There weren’t supposed to be consequences, _this_ specific consequence, anything after their surreal, trippy existence without rules. Living the dream. Boom - awake.

“You don’t even –” _Like me_ , says the childish voice in his head. Maybe not true? Besides, he likes Wong. Sometimes. Not when he borrows money. Wong has a secret, wicked streak of his own. They have interests in common. His humour is desert dry, but it’s there. No need for Stephen to feel bad about being acerbic. Wong can dish it. He does.

They live together. Work together. Eat breakfast together. Practically partners, in every way. Except.

“You’re not –” A blow to the ego. “Interested,” he finishes awkwardly. In men. Or, for all he knows, anyone. Definitely not in Stephen, who’d know. Would’ve picked it up. The image of Wong making cow eyes at him is - certainly something. Too busy rolling his eyes.

It’s the dichotomy that bothers him. Successful, but unpopular. Working with people, for people, and bad at making friends. At keeping them. Valuable colleague, not good company. It makes him try hard, too hard. He wants Wong to _like_ him, genuinely. Not tolerate him. Not watch him with a frown, the unruly pupil. Not pity him. Throw him a bone? Just something. The unimpressed ones are always the ones you want to impress.

Wong ploughs through his last pancake. Sort of sharing a meal, less than a promising start to unintended matrimony. One-day marriage, incorrigible differences from the beginning. There’s no leftover cake to divide; they celebrated with _Rogers’ Rocky Road_. Yeah, it figures.

“You assume too much,” Wong notes. He should be careful. Could read a lot into those few words. “You’re an attractive man. Intelligent, when you’re not being stupid.” He sips his tea. “Not bad.” Probably the most flattering thing Wong ever said about him, other than the praise for his magic, subtle and infrequent. “Another day,” he adds. “Would still be better.”

Are Wong’s jokes any funnier? They should undo this as quickly as possible - no. Wong is regarding him, silent and observant. A magnifying glass couldn’t discern his expression.

Stephen picks up his plate, almost dropping it in surprise. It’s warm again. His ruined breakfast has transformed into two perfect, golden slices. There’s a thin layer of honey on them both.

Wong smiles: toast to that.


End file.
